


but i burned it down years ago

by uptillthree



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Warnings, Discussions of sexuality, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, ace laurent, i'd love to pretend i didn't write this out of pure spite but i did. i did, is a subtweet still a subtweet if its 1k words? asking 4 a friend, mention of prison brutality, mention of suicide, no really. there's a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptillthree/pseuds/uptillthree
Summary: “He’swhat?”“Your uncle was found dead. In his cell. Last night.”Damen’s heart thundered. He looked to Laurent, but Laurent was gritting his teeth, stare icy. “How did he die?”Jord met his gaze steadily. “Slowly.”





	but i burned it down years ago

**Author's Note:**

> was this petty?? yes. do i regret it?? not rly. honestly i could write an entire essay about why headcanoning laurent as ace doesn't hurt his narrative or recovery at all, but i figure it would be pointless since y'all's minds are closed tight anyway. i could also write an essay about why using an abuse recovery narrative and skewing it to fulfill unhealthy and possibly dangerous fetishes is maybe,,, just maybe,,, wrong,,,,, but once again the point is moot.
> 
> also the alternate title of this in my drafts was "fuckin dead n obliterated", so. enjoy

“He’s _what?”_

Jord grimaced. “Your uncle was found dead. He—he killed himself. In his cell. Last night. They found a— a bottle. They’re still investigating how he got hold of it.”

Damen’s heart thundered. He looked to Laurent, but Laurent was gritting his teeth, stare icy. “That piece of—” Jord jumped out of the way as Laurent aimed a hard kick at the table, getting to his feet.

“Fuck’s sake! Laurent!”

“Hey,” Damen said quietly. He wanted, as he always did, to hold him, but he wasn’t sure how welcome his touch would be.

“Piece of shit,” Laurent muttered. “Goddamnit.”

“I know.”

“Of course he killed himself. Of course. He dragged his own trial out for _months,”_ Laurent snarled, as if Damen didn’t know, as if Damen hadn’t been there to see the tiring, grueling fight through with him, every step of the way. “And then, when he realizes he’s _lost,_ he—“ He laughed. There was no humor in it. Damen winced. “Fucking coward couldn’t even rot there for half his sentence.” Laurent turned, sharply, to Jord. “How did he die?”

Jord met his gaze steadily. “Slowly.”

Laurent’s gaze narrowed.

“He made a lot of enemies, y’know,” Jord said simply. “They told me he was pretty infamous in prison. Lots of people he… framed, or stepped on, somehow. When they found the body, they—he was already beaten up. I don’t even know how the guards on duty didn’t _notice,_ but— it was fucked up. The bruises had to have been there for days. They figure he’d have died of internal bleeding anyway.”

 _Good,_ Damen wanted to say, but he was watching Laurent. Laurent had his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed as though he were thinking very hard, as though he did not know what to think at all.

“I already told Aimeric. He’s… he’ll be fine.” After a moment of unnerving silence, Jord said, “There’s something else.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow.

“They—well, they want to know how he’ll be buried. Or where.” Jord coughed. “His, uh, will said he wanted to be buried next to your parents. So—”

Laurent laughed again, out of shock, and this time he seemed to find it truly funny. Damen sent Jord a disgusted look.

“Hey, c’mon,” Jord said, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Laurent sat down again, the tension in his spine finally receding. He leaned back and put his feet up on the table, affecting an air of pure indifference. “Bold of him to assume I’d give a single shit about what he wanted.”

“Pretty much,” said Jord. “It was pathetic.”

Laurent snorted. “He won’t get a burial anywhere _near_ my parent’s graves. Honestly? Tell them to do whatever they want with the body—bury it in some unmarked grave, burn it, throw it into the ocean, use it as fertilizer—whatever the usual protocol with people who die in prison is. He’ll be burning in hell either way. I don’t care.”

Jord pretended to salute. “Will do, your highness,” he teased, and then he was leaving again.

Still feeling a little thrown, Damen sat down next to Laurent. The coffee had cooled. Breakfast did not seem very appetizing anymore, anyway. It was fine; he had been mostly finished by the time Jord had arrived. He watched as Laurent sat up and took a long drink of water.

“Hey,” Damen said again, putting his hand out so it rested between them, palm down. It was their code. Laurent could take his hand, or he couldn’t. It was all right, either way. Damen was just letting him know he was there.

Without hesitation, Laurent reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it hard, and Damen felt relieved anyway.

“You okay?” Damen asked.

Laurent opened his mouth, then closed it, considering his question seriously. For a moment, Damen thought Laurent would get up and leave, needing space to process. Then, Laurent nodded. “I’m very okay,” he said. “I don’t even feel guilty.”

“Why would you feel guilty?”

Laurent shrugged. “I guess I just expected myself to be,” he said. “But I don’t. I just… don’t care about him anymore. I’m content, and he didn’t disturb that.” He blinked. “I should probably call Nicaise. Before someone else tells him.”

“Yeah.”

“He’ll be overjoyed.”

Damen laughed. “Probably.”

Laurent shifted so that he was leaning on Damen’s shoulder. Damen shifted so that he could lean back towards him. “You know,” said Laurent, “Nicaise told me a few days ago that he told you he was gay.”

“Oh,” Damen said. “Yeah, he did. I mean, I’d sort of figured it out by then, but. Principle of the thing.”

Laurent nodded. “Did you also know he was frighteningly bitter about it?”

“What?”

A sigh. “He’s not happy that he is. Gay, rather. He thinks that if Uncle had never— well. He’s angry with himself that he isn’t straight. He thinks that that means Uncle… affected him.”

Damen blinked, starting to frown. He remembered the look on Nicaise’s face when he came out, every muscle in his body coiled and tense. “That’s not how it—”

“I know it’s not,” Laurent said, so Damen shut his mouth again. “Did you think I didn’t wonder that about myself too, before? I did. I thought, you know, if my uncle hadn’t been a fucking pedophilic bastard, maybe I wouldn’t be—”

He cut the words off, but Damen heard them anyway, hanging in the air between them. _I wouldn’t be— like this. Asexual, gay. Like this._  Damen was suddenly relieved Laurent’s uncle was dead. If he hadn’t been, he would have been tempted to drive all the way to his prison cell just to punch him.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he said simply, angrily. “Your sexuality isn’t some side effect of what he did, and it wouldn’t matter either way, and—and it doesn’t make your sexuality any less valid, and you’re not—” Distantly, he was aware he was getting worked up, talking too fast to make sense. “Laurent—”

“Damen.” Laurent was sitting up and smiling faintly, as though he’d said all the right answers. “I know. I figured that out a long time ago. It’s fine.”

Damen released a long, slow breath. “Good.” He forced himself to relax.

“I told Nicaise that. I think he’ll figure it out, too.”

“Okay.”

Laurent sent him a look. “Are _you_ okay?”

Damen stared back at him for a moment, helplessly. “I’m _really_ glad he’s dead,” was all he said.

Laurent nodded once. “So am I.”

“You're okay?”

“I’m happy. With you.”

“Good,” Damen said again, and suddenly he was smiling, fervent, pleased. _I’m happy with you._ “I’m happy with you too.”

He wanted helplessly to kiss Laurent, to hold him close, but before he could ask, Laurent had beaten him to it, surging forward to meet Damen’s lips, his other hand sliding around Damen’s nape while their hands remained entwined. It was sweetly private, Damen finding himself breathless by the end of it, as though it were their first again. Laurent’s fingers ran through the hair at Damen’s nape, and quietly and simply, he whispered: “I love you.”

For a moment, Damen found himself utterly speechless, like a ship unmoored. He was certain that if he had been standing, his knees would have buckled. Laurent did not say it often; he did not need to, because Damen knew it already. But still the careful admission, in that tone, so vulnerable and earnest, brought a rush of affection hot and heady through Damen’s chest. Before he could stop himself, his hand slid around Laurent’s body and pulled him close.

“I love you too,” he said.

He felt Laurent smile against the crook his neck. “I know.” They sat there, for a moment, listening to the rhythm of each other’s breaths. “We should probably clean up.”

He nodded to the table, where the food had long gone cold. There was a puddle of coffee slowly dripping to the floor—the cup had been knocked over when Jord came in with the news.

“Probably,” Damen said. He didn’t move.

After a moment, he was surprised to hear Laurent laugh again, quietly joyful this time, pressing impossibly closer to him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Laurent tilted his head and sent him a soft, exasperated look, as though the answer was quite obvious. “Everything.”


End file.
